


Freud Would Say

by luckywitch



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Alcohol, Arm Fixation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, PWP, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckywitch/pseuds/luckywitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only notices that, because they’re once again an inch away from death and global disaster and not because he wants to stick his cock in Benji’s mouth, ramming it to hilt, seeing how Benji works his mouth around that punctuation point, because lying isn’t just what he does to himself, it’s what he does to/for/with other people; it’s his job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freud Would Say

**Author's Note:**

> Idea was inspired by [this kink meme prompt](http://ghotocol-kink.livejournal.com/1494.html?thread=19926#t19926): "Benji's got an oral fixation, Brandt finds it very distracting. Benji also has a thing for strong arms (just like Brandt's). so... blow-job and hand-job, please"
> 
> I started writing this and then was distracted by the Avengers (and still am), but I figured I should finish this especially since the DVD is out. 
> 
> If you see a problem, let me know, and if not, enjoy!

Benji can’t help that when he’s nervous that words just spew out of his mouth, vomiting information to sooth his concerns as if his words can protect him from bullets and covers being blown like an aluminum foil hat from an alien wavelength.  And maybe, it’s not just when he’s nervous but when he is giving a debriefing, explaining some advanced technological gadget, driving, showering, eating, and even when he’s breathing/living/alive. There are too many times when that comes close to not being true, but it’s all in a day’s work.

So yea, he’s a talker by nature, but you can’t talk everywhere, a few slaps to the head thanks to the librarian taught him that, so he tries to stuff his mouth with whatever he can: fingers, pens, straws, toothpicks; and keeps himself quiet—for the most part.

It’s just because Brandt is a trained field agent in a decidedly twitchy situation, which puts him on edge and hyperaware of every little fidget and shift that Benji makes, especially when it concerns Benji’s mouth and that pen he’s molesting: tracing his tongue around the lid, circling and circling, nibbling on the end, tracing and outlining his lips, inserting it back into his wet, pink, mouth, flicking his tongue along the edge, and eventually settling into sucking softly, before starting the torturous—or is it rapturous?—pattern again. He only notices that, because they’re once again an inch away from death and global disaster and not because he wants to stick his cock in Benji’s mouth, ramming it to hilt, seeing how Benji works his mouth around that punctuation point, because lying isn’t just what he does to himself, it’s what he does to/for/with other people; it’s his job.

Somehow, it’s when they’re the most wired and closest to death, it’s the easiest to get the most drunk, because if it really is the end of the world this time, is it worth going out sober? That’s how William Brandt finds himself talking Benji out of looking over whatever computer schematic for the twentieth time, and joins him with this mostly-full bottle of tequila.

The first shot is filled up with a salute, to the other two agents wishing them the best on this part of the mission; it’s up to them alone, now. The second shot a toast to the world, because, hey, it was great knowing her why it lasted. The third shot to wry smiles and cynicism. The fourth shot to the fact that Benji’s knee collided with the table leg with an audible thump.

And, it’s on the fifth shot in under a half an hour that Brandt realizes he’s buzzed, and his body feels light and loose, and that Benji, across the table, is somewhere in the land between tipsy and drunk. It’s then that he lets himself mostly relax, letting Benji’s incessant chatter surround him as he pours himself another drink. It’s only when Benji starts talking about his body, does Brandt start to pay diligent attention.

“It took me ages to pass the agent exam, well not literally ages, but y’know, a while, especially when compared to others. Not like you really know how many times they’ve tried or what, but it was one of those things I tried to keep to myself. Didn’t want to make other technicians feel like I was leaving them prematurely, because they’re great chaps, but I wanted to do my part more. To stop being the guy behind the scenes all the time,” Benji says, laughing to himself.

“It wasn’t the paper session that was the hard part, because that was as intuitive as taking a piss, and isn’t that funny that they actually have a multiple choice and bubble in the answer part of a test for a top secret spy organization? Felt like being at uni all over again. And, the tech part, was obviously, easy as well, because half the shit I’d repaired or built or modified. But being in the field? That took work, physicality; it was like The Most Dangerous Game and Bear Grylls type stuff but with kung fu. Yea, sure, I had taken the necessary defense classes, but I needed to do more, to be a better fighter. I went and took more classes and started lifting weights at the gym. I had visions of me being all Rocky style and telling people to ‘make my day.’ But, I never got in proper shape, like you have.’

“For fuck sake, Brandt, it looks like you choke an ox with your arms and afterwards open a little ole babushka’s entire pantry full of jarred pickled onions!” he exclaims, flushed and a bit vehement, “I mean what kind of analysis has biceps like that? Did you have to carry bales of paper across the office or something? Are political leaders biographies that long winded? Because, the IMF manual is bloody long as it is, and I can’t imagine someone’s life having that much more to write about than that. And, it’s not like I see you ever work out or do pushups or lift weights, and I definitely would have remembered if the Bible said ‘On the eighth day, God gave William Brandt biceps. And God saw that this was good.’”

Brandt isn’t entirely sure if he just thought up that whole conversation in his head or not, but Benji is muttering something about bears and hugs, so he’s pretty sure that this just happened and what the fuck was that? He’s too surprised to laugh, and the rest of his thoughts are kind of hazy and warm now, but who knew that Benji thought this much about his arms. Thinking about Benji thinking about his arms is a thought that’s growing more appealing by the second, and his brain isn’t the only part that thinks so.

Across the table, Benji pours himself another shot in an absent minded manner, more as something to have in his mouth than an actual need for alcohol. He’s caught up in his thoughts, his mouth just echoing those pinging words aloud, and he’s not entirely sure how he ended up at Brandt’s arms, although it is one of his favorite things to think about when he’s bored (the others being what picture from 4chan he should send to every country’s defense department when he hacks in, what Hogwarts house everyone would be in, or what he’s going to do next with his character in Skyrim) because he really does have no idea how an analyst who never works out can have forearms like those. Did he climb to work instead of use stairs or elevators?’ It’s when he’s bringing the shot glass back down from his mouth does he notice Brandt’s eyes locked on him, gazing at him questioningly and something he can’t define at the moment.

“Do you think about my arms often?” Brandt asks, shifting to lean forward in his chair.

That’s when Benji’s brain catches up with his mouth and his blood with his cheeks, because his face and neck are turning a bright red, flushing, clearly due to no alcohol related influences this time.

Brandt smirks, his gaze knowing and predatory, and wonders, ‘Who the hell let Benji be an agent when he can’t even lie convincingly?’ Not that he’s complaining or anything.

Benji isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but with the instinct of most prey, knows he should get the fuck out of there and offers, “’Bout time we had some water, right? Definitely think it’s time for agua, uisge, eau, su, the drink of life…” as he clambers noisily out of his chair. It’s when he’s walking to the kitchen, with his back to Brandt, when Brandt attacks, turning Benji around and pinning him to the wall, removing all means of escape or any ability to think at all by placing one hand on his shoulder and another grabbing his hip. Brandt breaks and enters Benji’s personal space as if it were a security level one facility, leaning in, eyes searching his face, lingering on Benji’s lips.

“You never answered my question, Benji. Do you think about my arms often?” Brandt inquires, his thumb rubbing a lazy circle on the other agent’s hip.

And it’s all Benji can do to not shudder at the touch, he’s already on his way to becoming hard, enjoying being pinned against the wall by Brandt—Will—and maybe he’s gets off a little more on those high pressure, life-threating moments more than he’s comfortable admitting to himself. Finally after a couple of tries of working his jaw and no sound coming out, eyes wide, does the damn of words break free.

“What are you going on about? Nah, I don’t think of your arms often. Nope, nyet, nein. No idea where you got that idea from. Just that one, or rather two—I mean just those  three times. Never thought about them before that. You know what? Freud would say you’re projecting. Are you projecting or are you just doing Inception-y type elephant stuff?” Benji questions as he pauses and licks his lips nervously. As if Brandt would have any idea what he was talking about.

Brandt lightly cocks his head to the side and gives the rambling man a pointed look, punctuated by a raised eyebrow.

Benji completely cracks under the scrutiny and blurts out, “Alright! You caught me, I may have thought of them more than three times. Ok, well, I definitely have. But not in creepy way! Only in the non-creepy, appreciative way. Michelangelo’s _David_ would be jealous of your arms!”

Brandt gives in to his wandering eyes and stares at the other man’s nervous mouth, yammering on as if he might have offended with the comments about his arms. He listens to Benji speak some more, but his attention is solely focused on Benji’s mouth and how he bites and licks his lips.

He can’t take the other man’s talking anymore, and pins Benji’s lips beneath his own. It successfully shuts the talkative agent up, and Brandt smirks before deepening the kiss. There’s more he’d like to say, but doesn’t even know where to begin to put into words, so he hopes Benji, at least, picks up on the fact that he likes when the agent looks and thinks about his arms.

As for Benji, there is always some part of him talking, even if no words fall from his mouth. His body is pliant and welcoming; his tongue is teasing and curious; and his cock is willing and desperately trying to make its existence known. He’s not sure if it is because Brandt heard his cock’s non-verbal pleas or the fact that he was trying to rut against air making it obvious, but the hand holding down Benji’s hip, slides to the jean’s buttons. Brandt pulls back to look at jean closure and deftly undoes them.

If his cock could talk it would be saying ‘Hallelujah’ but instead, Benji exclaims, “Oh thank fuck!”

“Do you want to watch me stroke your cock?” Brandt replies.

Upon hearing those words Benji’s brain melts into a puddle of mush, as his mouth gapes in response. Thankfully his head is fully capable of responding and nods in answer, as his fingers also type out a reply in Morse code against his thigh.

Brandt huffs a little laugh and pushes the still silent agent’s jeans and underwear down, freeing his hard dick.

It’s when he’s looking down watching Brandt’s hand wrapped around his cock that the silence is broken and his mouth catches up with what the rest of his body has been saying.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Benji babbles. “Are you sure this is real and I’m not in some sort of dream? Because I have had a dream like this before. Once.”

Brandt stops, giving him a disbelieving look and Benji immediately caves, “Ok, I’ve had this dream numerous times and none of them were as hot as this, and even if this turns out to be a dream, it’s bloody brilliant, and please don’t stop.”

Brandt brings his hand up to Benji’s mouth, urging the other man to coat his palm in saliva. His gaze is riveted on that pink tongue dancing along his palm. He moves his hand back down and starts firmly stroking the other man’s cock again. He loves watching Benji talk and gasp and moan from his ministrations and wants to capture it all with his own mouth, swallowing each sound. It’s hard to pick between exploring that mouth and watching it, but since Benji wants to see Brandt’s arms in action, he’ll settle for watching, this time.

“Yes, like that. Just like that. Feels fantastic with you stroking my cock. Better than what I could do myself and your arms. Fuu--,” he gasps, “—ck. Do you even know how hot they are? I need to save this image forever with your hand playing with my balls and having your fingers running up and down the shaft. Shit, fuck yes, smear the pre come around. Look gorgeous, stroking, all muscley and rippling.”

It’s not surprising that Benji is a talker, since he is in every other instance in life, but never before has it affected Brandt so headily. His own dick is straining against his pants and he starting to feel drunk on the arousal, or maybe it's the tequilla. It doesn't matter, his sole focus, right now, is to make Benji come moaning his name.

Brandt sets his pace a little faster, twisting his hand around the head before sliding his hand back over the shaft again. Benji audibly appreciates the new pace, hips thrusting forward in agreement.

“Mmm, so close. Almost there, oh yes, fuck this is wonderful. So strong and fit,” Benji replies moaning.

Brandt leans forward, mouth near Benji’s ear and says, “Come for me Benji. Spill your come all over my hands and arms.”

With a strangled noise, Benji’s body tenses for a second before he’s coming in Brandt’s hand, keening in relief and branding the image to his memory. Brandt’s hand catches most of each spurt of come, and he gives the pleased cock a couple of last strokes, covering it in the sticky fluid.

Benji leans against the wall, amazed, reliving the past few minutes in his head. He’s not exactly sure how he gets knocked out of his daze, but he can feel that fuzzy feeling slipping away and the urge to talk rise. He’s afraid of what he’d say, how much more he’d admit to the other agent, and feels the need to curb his blathering before it begins. Benji reaches for Brandt and ends up grabbing the hand that had been caressing him earlier, pulling it towards his mouth, sucking his come off the other man’s fingers.

Brandt groans watching this display, rubbing his erection along the quiet agent’s leg. When, Benji has licked his hand clean, he pulls him away and into a deep, passionate kiss. His mouth is warm, inviting, and tastes like tequila and come.

Benji breaks away, sliding down the wall, stopping when he gets to front of the other man’s pants. He make quick work of the buttons and zipper and slides them down, unleashing the rigid cock.

“Oh hell yes,” Brandt groans, watching his cock disappear into Benji’s mouth, with his shiny pink lips, surrounding the shaft and slide along the length. He’s not entirely sure how any times he’s thought of Benji’s mouth on him, but it’s better than anything he had imagined. His mouth sucking and wrapping around his dick with a wet, tight, heat.

Benji looks up at him from under his eyelashes, and it’s all he can do to not slam his cock into the man’s throat. Benji leans back and grins, taking the dick and licking it all over, running his tongue from base to head. He lets it flick over the head and under the glands and traces patterns down the shaft. He even finds a path to the testicles, lightly trailing his tongue around them before gently sucking.

‘I don’t think I’m going to last long,’ thinks Brandt. If the world doesn’t end, then they can do this again, and if it does, well, at least they both got to come.

Benji brings his mouth back to the Brandt’s cock, bobbing up and down on the stiff member, taking it further and further each time. He lets out a little moan that wraps the dick in vibrations and Brandt is running his fingers through the other man’s hair warning him, “Close.”

Benji speeds up his ministrations, until the tip of Brandt’s cock is almost touching the back of his throat. Brandt is enthralled by the sight of Benji and his mouth of his that is put to better use, until he cries out, “Fuck!” His eyes involuntarily shut and he shoots his load into Benji’s mouth. Benji take a second to swallow the load and lick the cock clean.

Brandt pulls Benji back up to eye level giving him another searing kiss and they both lean against the wall for a couple of minutes.

Once they’re breathing evens out, they clean themselves up and resituate themselves. They both end back at the table, where Brandt asks Benji, “Want another drink?”


End file.
